


A cold fire still leaves a burn

by Maharetchan



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M, Power Dynamics, Sex on Furniture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-02
Updated: 2012-05-02
Packaged: 2017-11-04 16:55:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maharetchan/pseuds/Maharetchan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His lord commands, never asks; Davos obeys, never questions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A cold fire still leaves a burn

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Set after the end of the siege of Storm's End, after Stannis cut Davos's fingers. From the informations I found, Stannis should be 18-19, I'm assuming Davos is a bit older than him.  
> 2\. Written for this prompts: "All the Onion Knight had ever wanted was to please his king." in the [asoiafkinkmeme](http://asoiafkinkmeme.livejournal.com/).  
> 3\. My first language is not English and I don't have an English beta reader. So please excuse the grammar mistakes that you'll probably find.  
> 4\. I love comments!

His lord is light in his arms, when Davos helps him to get on the table, the signs of the starvation he had to endure still clear on his body, a young, strong body, an harsh contrast with the old, pained, haunted look in his lord's eyes.  
An old man's eyes, they say Stannis Baratheon has and they don't know how right they are, how close to the truth they get with what they think is a mocking, one of the many they inflict on him: they don't know what those eyes saw, but Davos does.  
Davos knows everything about his lord, even things his lord ignores about himself, even things his lord wishes Davos didn't know.  
Davos can count every one of his ribs, can feel his spine hard against his healthy hand that now is gently sliding along his lord's back, feeling his skin almost electric against his fingers.  
His lord's hands are on his arms, holding them like he's afraid Davos will try to escape and leave him like this, on the table naked, open, vulnerable and beautiful in a broken, imperfect, painful way: his lord's eyes never leave him and Davos can feel those black pits staring inside him like he's made of glass; it was unpleasant at first, now he wishes he could always have those eyes on him.  
The first time it happened, Davos didn't know what to do when his lord entered his room with his usual hard expression on his face, his voice calm and still when he whispered his command.  
\- Take your clothes off and fuck me. -  
For a second, he thought his lord had too much wine, but Stannis Baratheon never indulged in that sort of vices, never lowered his guard, his armor always on even when he was not wearing it.  
He tried to argue, tried to bring his lord back to reason, but he silenced him with a kiss, an hard one, all teeth and tongue and lips crushing against Davos's, a command stronger than any words he could possibly give him.  
The realization hit Davos while he was fucking his lord on the floor, his cock buried inside him so deed it felt like his lord's body was desperately trying to melt it and mix their bodies forever: his lord's rooms are on the other side of the castle, a journey long enough to give him all the time in the world to turn back and pretend the idea never came into his mind.  
His lord wants him like this, wants to be taken, fucked hard like a common whore, wants to feel every thing Davos is able to make him feel.  
His lord needs this, needs the freedom from what he is and what will always be, a lord, a commander, the king's brother, Stannis of House Baratheon, that he can only have when Davos is between his legs, buried inside him, using him, taking him so hard it'll hurt for days.  
His lord commands, never asks; Davos obeys, never questions.  
Now he's kissing his lord's neck, biting the skin just enough to make his breath a bit rushed, to feel the pressure of his hands on his arms a bit tighter: Davos knows how to pleasure him now, learned from past mistakes, found the spots that make even Stannis Baratheon moan and shiver with want like a young green boy.  
And he is a boy, after all, no longer green but still a boy, and it's easy to forget it only because he buried his youth under an armor of hardness, mistrust, loneliness and hate.   
But Davos can see under it, can see the boy with the old eyes, the boy who still wants to feel alive in his arms, the boy with a wounded, bleeding heart that is still beating no matter how slain it is.  
A boy not much older than Davos, but who is his lord, his prince, his king, his God, his everything.  
When Davos takes him in his mouth, one of his lord's leg kick the air almost desperately, his hand covering Davos mutilated one, still covered with a thick layer of bandages and slide it over his heart, brings it to his mouth and uses it to muffle his moans, kisses it and the smuggler can feel those lips burn through the cotton like they're directly against his skin.  
Davos sucks him while sliding two finger lubricated only with spit inside his lord and starts preparing him: he can take the pain, almost welcomes it, like he's expiating something terrible and needs that pain like he needs to breath and maybe he is, his lord has burdens on his shoulders, in his heart and in his memories that many men would find to heavy to handle, fearing they'll get crushed and killed by them.  
But Stannis Baratheon is not many men.  
He knows when his lord is ready, when the pressure, the need, the want, the desire become too much and he's about to snap, to lose his control completely and that's when Davos pushes inside him, receiving in return a cry that he silences with a kiss: the kiss is a battle of tongues, teeth and the smuggler knows he has to win it, because that's what his lord wants him to do, he wants Davos to make him feel weak and overpowered, want to be dominated and subdued.  
Because Davos knows his lord is an hard man and knows far too well that is difficult to break hard men, but when they do break it's impossible to put the pieces back together.   
And if his lord breaks, Davos feels that he could as well die, because nothing in this world would matter without him.  
\- Harder... Davos, harder. -  
His voice is so low and heavy, Davos can feel it slide on his skin, scratching and bruising just like his lord's hands; so he gives him what he wants, pounds into him so hard he fear the table is going to break, puts one of his legs on his shoulder and hits that spot that makes his lord moan and plead and scream and when he kisses him again, this time the kiss is different, is a secret whispered against his lips, a wordless promise that makes Davos's heart hurt so good, that sends a sparkle of pleasure and pain across his body.  
He spills inside his lord just as he comes in his hand, his hands scratching his back so hard there will be marks tomorrow, marks Davos Seaworth will wear with pride.  
He collapse on top of his lord's body, his breath hot against the sweaty skin and he can feel his hand in his hair, caressing him almost gently: it's a gift no one will never have but him, Davos knows and feels a strange kind of warmth in his chest, right where his heart is.  
He helps his lord up and brings him to the bed, an hand against the small of his back, the tender skin inviting him again.  
\- Stay. -  
Another order and Davos slides under the covers with him, observes his lord as he curls against his side, his head on his chest.  
\- Thank you. -  
It's just a whisper against his skin, but Davos hears it and hears all the other things his lord wants to say but doesn't in that whisper.  
They say that Robert is a fire that will never stop burning; they say Renly will be as bright as the sun one day, when he'll become a man.  
And they say that Stannis is a cold flame, empty and lifeless, useless; but Davos Seaeworth knows that no matter how cold the fire is, it'll still leave a burn.   
And he wears his scar and his burn like an armor of pure gold, because it's the most precious gift his lord could give him.  
It's a burn of trust, of passion, maybe even of love.  
Davos finally shuts his eyes, holds Stannis, his Stannis, closer and lets himself fall asleep.


End file.
